The Man in the Window
by Olivia028
Summary: From the sadness of those initial days, to the disasters that would rage on after, many stories and relationships were forged. Just as the little princess did, so too did the others grow stronger from their journey; finding one another through the darkness… or from across the balcony, or through an open window; calling out and connecting over that great divide. Ram DassxMiss Rose
1. Intro

**A/N: I love the original 1939 Little Princess with Shirly Temple and Cesar Romero and couldn't help but give his character a little more light. So for all you hopeless romantics out there, here's something special for Ram Dass. The Handsome and kind Indian lascar, who did so much for the little princess. **

**Enjoy :) **

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><p>The Man in the Window<p>

Those first days were the hardest for the little princess. Sarah had been through times without her father before, when he was called away for military duty or to see to the concerns on the front, but he had always seemed close by. Now as she spoke those magic words that promised they would see each other again, and after only the ghost of his strong presence was left standing behind her, she couldn't help the shallow feeling that this time it was different.

But the soldier in her knew better and during that time there was nothing Sarah had been more thankful for, than her assurance that he would return.

There had been many of those who had provided their own rays of hope and encouragement to the young girl. Miss Rose, for example, who had always been there to soften the sting after one of Miss. Minchin's crueler punishments. And Ram Dass, whose kindness knew no bounds and who acted as a guardian to the child when she was left with nothing.

The support of her companions and the faith within her heart had worked to set the little princess free.

But her story has already been told.

For the true magic of such strength and kindness is that it never affects just one person. It wasn't only Sarah who admired the gentle charm of her Indian neighbor. His kindness brought joy to another. His grace and comfort gave security to her when she needed him. And it wasn't Sarah alone who saw the beauty of Miss Rose's smile. Her interest and laughter was treasured by another, held close in the memory of midnight, as he left the window from which they communed.

From the sadness of those initial days, to the disasters that would rage on after, many stories and relationships were forged. And just as the little princess did, so too did the others grow stronger from their journey; finding one another through the darkness… or from across the balcony, or through an open window; calling out and connecting over that great divide.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Those initial days were masked lightly in the honey heat of a leftover summer. Autumn was in the city, though it had steadily drifted in for weeks. Now the drone of traffic and the steam of industry all wafted together in the wake of rolling carriage wheels and marching soldiers. The heat wouldn't last for much longer and soon it would be gone. The last of the heavy comforting haze that seemed to sing so sweetly of home would fade, making way for a cold British winter to come rolling in off the sea.

From the top most window of his master's estate, Ram Dass could almost see the cold billowing, churning over the waves in the distant bay and bidding its time before its sudden decent. The Lascar had been under the honorable Lord Wickham's employment for several years now, and as such was accustomed to London' cold and foggy demeanor. But it still never failed to affect him, watching the last of the blessed warmth be so frivolously carried away, and with it the last remembrance of home.

Ram Dass was a worldly man, and one of many perspectives. The changing of the seasons would come and go as would the people and places that he would have the pleasure of knowing along the way. It simply interested him, that no matter how far he went or how foreign the surroundings, there was always a little something that shared the light of that far away India that he loved so well.

Most mornings he found it in the breaking dawn. The same golden sun that shone from his memories and over the mountains of his childhood would great him here as well, basking over the jungle of sleeping chimneys and smoke stacks. This was Ram Dass's favorite time of day, when he would sit at his window by the roof with a cup of tea warm in his hands, content to watching the sun rise. It was a good time to think of course, as well as the only time he could let Rani stretch her wings.

The colorful bird was a pampered little thing. Lord Wickham fancied her more then he let on, cooing and pawing over the pretty queen whenever he didn't think Ram Dass was watching. But like the lascar, the bird's heart was based in India, and she too needed to revel in the familiar and welcoming sunrise.

Ram Dass sat upon the window sill, his cup held gently in his hands as he watched the magnificent bird make her sweeping circles. Back and forth her body danced, breaking up the rays of light and casting long, beautiful, sweeping shadows of her own.

The gentleman took a final sip of his tea and carefully set the cup down upon its saucer. Standing he faced the window, and had only to extend his arm to call Rani back to him. With a fluttered commotion she slowed herself down and landed, her tiny claws holding securely on to him as he pulled her safely inside.

Setting the parrot on his shoulder he picked up his dishes and went to close the window, soon to set off to the kitchen to begin Lord Wickham's breakfast before seeing to his valet duties. But before he did, a light in one of the lower windows caught his eye. The building across the way was a boarding school, and an established one at that, but it was much too early for any of the girls to be about. From the light of the window he saw a woman, gazing out at the sun as he had done only a moment before, and pinning up her long hair as she did so. The lady seemed tired, but not in any way discouraged. Ram Dass recognized a similar look in her that he himself often carried. The early rising help, taking their moment of peace before the long and demanding day began.

A smile came to the man's face as he watched her step away.

"Well, Rani. It appears we are not the only ones." The parrot nuzzled her head playfully beneath his chin, making the lascar laugh as he too turned away from the window. The morning had come, and now the day was calling.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Miss Emily Rose stood at the foot of the stair. One by one she greeted the girls as they came down for their morning breakfast. The young women of Miss Minchin's Boarding School were still wiping sleep from their eyes. The ribbons at the ends of their braids swung loosely in lazy knots that said it was too early for their mistresses to properly tie them. She smiled in amusement. No doubt they would complain to one another about how early they were forced to rise. Little did they know that Miss Rose had been awake now for several hours, running errands for the kitchen staff to prepare this morning's breakfast, pressing the girl's laundry, and setting up today's lessen plans. But she didn't really mind. It was the busy routine of life that she had grown accustomed to.

Ermengarde, the poor sweet girl, was always the last to rise. When Miss Rose greeted her at the end of her hurried flight downstairs she glanced up through the balustrade, searching for the one student she had not yet seen.

"Oh, Ermengarde," She gently called. The curly mop of hair spun around.

"Yes Miss Rose?"

"Have you seen Sarah yet this morning, dear?"

She shook her head, sending her curls flying.

"The new girl? No ma'am."

Miss Rose glanced up again. "Alright, I think I better fetch her then. Perhaps she forgot the morning schedule."

"Yes ma'am." Ermengarde said

"Go on dear, we'll be down in a moment." Dismissed, the girl ran off as Miss Rose took the stairs. She hopped Minchin would be lenient with their tardiness; it was young Miss Crewe's first day after all.

After giving a polite knock to announce herself Miss Rose opened the door and stepped inside. She was surprised to find that Sarah was not in her bed nor was she getting ready. The child was standing by the open window, leaning on the sill and talking with someone outside.

If anyone else had walked in on this they might have been alarmed, but not Miss Rose. In fact she smiled, and folded her hands neatly as she waited for them to finish their conversation.

"Good morning Sarah." She said, once it seemed they were done. Sarah Crewe turned and gave Miss Rose a wonderful smile.

"Oh, good morning Miss Rose!" the little girl ran over to her.

"Ready for breakfast, dear?"

"Oh yes. I was just saying hello to our neighbor. Have you met him? He's very nice."

Miss Rose smiled. "I don't think I've had the pleasure. But darling, we have to get you downstairs. Miss Minchin is expecting us."

"It won't take long." Sarah said and taking a hold of her hand pulled Miss Rose toward the open window.

"Oh, dear, it wouldn't be very appropriate behavior. I-" But before she could finish protesting they were at the window, and she was looking into a pair of brilliant brown eyes.

"Miss Rose, this is Ram Dass, he works for Lord Wickham across the way. Mr. Ram Dass, this is Miss Rose. She's my teacher."

"Charmed to meet you." Miss Rose breathed; completely forgetting the breakfast and headmistress waiting downstairs. The man in the window was tall with overbearing shoulders. He stood strait as a rail, was completely dressed in white…and had the most handsome face Emily had ever seen.

He smiled at her, "And a pleasure to meet you Miss Rose."

"We were talking about India." Sarah chimed in, "That's his home too."

"How wonderful. It will be so nice for Sarah to have someone familiar to talk with about it, Mr. Ram Dass" she said.

His smile grew, spreading dashingly to his eyes. "Just Ram Dass, if you please. And it would be my great privilege to do so." The rules of appropriate conversation forbid the two of them from straying to any topic beyond polite small talk, especial when shouted between windows. So though her mind was instantly filled with questions and wonderings of India, Miss Rose instead took a moment and simply admired him.

In less than a heartbeat her sense of awareness returned and she was back in the boarding school, with a tardy pupil by her side.

"Sarah dear, the other girls are already at their places in the dining room. Miss Minchin has a very strict policy on punctuality."

"Do I have to join them?" Sarah asked.

"I'm afraid so. But don't worry. I'll explain to her that you had a very good reason." Her gaze was sent back across the turrets to where the handsome Indian was attending to the colorful bird on its perch. He caught her glance and her words, and gave her another charming smile and a slight bow.

"It was pleasure to meet you, Ram Dass." She called.

"Enjoy your day, Miss Rose." He said.

With Sarah at her side, and Lord Wickham waiting, the two left their windows to begin on the waiting responsibilities of their two separate, expecting households.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The tolling of the grandfather clock could be heard in every corner of Minchin's school. Miss Rose was in the drawing room with the older girls when the warden of time chimed eight.

_Work, _

_work, _

_work_,

it seemed to chant; ever the constant reminder to keep her on her toes.

Miss Rose set down the algebra tests she had been grading and gently rubbed her eyes. It was tiring looking over the endless columns of numbers in this low light, but Miss Minchin required the lamps be kept dim after the dinner hour. She insisted it was to encourage a meditative atmosphere for the girls to work in and unwind, though the house staff had their suspicions that it had more to do with the head mistress's miserly management. Miss Rose generally tried to avoid such gossip, even though the thought was certainly fitting.

Taking a turn about the room, she checked on the girls' needlepoint before excusing herself to put the younger ones to bed. In her pocket she carried a spool of yellow thread that Lavinia had asked her to throw away.

"It's a horrid color." The girl had snootily proclaimed. Miss Rose had said nothing, and simply pocketed the golden treasure. That night, before retiring, she would bring the thread to Becky, a sweet servant girl who lived in the attic. She had a gift for needle work that surpassed Miss Rose's best pupil. She secretly wished she could be allowed to teach Becky, to help her refine her natural talent. But such a thing would be forbidden. So for now, the occasional gift and passing word of advice would have to do.

"Emily." Her thoughts were interrupted with the calling of her name.

"Yes Miss Minchin?" She said, stopping on the landing of the stair.

"Have you finished grading the girls' tests?"

"Just about. There are a few more that I'll see to after I put the little ones to bed."

"Hmm," said Miss Minchin, pursing her lips. "I see. Well don't delay. They need to be ready by tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am. I'll have them done in no time."

"Really? Then you wouldn't mind taking on an extra little project before bed… since you're so efficient." Emily cursed herself. She should know better by now than to make such foolish statements.

"Of course not, ma'am." She replied, hiding her disappointment.

"Good. The silver is laid out in the pantry. Polish it and put it away."

"Yes ma'am."

Miss Minchin gave her a closed lipped smile that twisted up the corners of her mouth in way that could only be called triumphant.

"That's all Miss Rose." She said, leaving with an air of elegance. Emily let out a long breath. Now she would be up for hours.

She hadn't expected this much work when she took the job. Miss Rose was meant to attend strictly to studies and education, a position that when she applied had claimed to be at most an eight hour day. Cleaning and house work belonged to the kitchen staff and though she often took on one of the many extra chores to help them through, her pay was never compensated to match. There was more work in the boarding school than three cooks, one teacher and a young servant girl could handle. But Minchin never seemed interested in hiring the extra help they needed.

For the life of her Emily couldn't imagine why. The school made good money and was one of the top three highest rated seminaries in the city. It was for that reason that she had originally considered herself fortunate to have been hired here, especially since it provided her with meals and a room of her own. But now, standing once again under the stare of that demanding clock in the hall, its hard and tarnished face mirroring the expectations of its mistress, she couldn't help but wonder… was all this really worth it?

Miss Rose left the landing and made her way first to little Lottie's room, keeping in mind what mattered most; the children. She loved teaching the girls and at the end of the day it was their interactions that revived her spirit and will to remain. She couldn't leave them to fend off Minchin on their own, Emily thought, helping to lift her spirits.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The house was in a deep sleep long before Miss Rose finally retired, retreating at last to the sanctuary of a closed door, a warm bed, and the ignorance of a few hours solitude. Even Becky had been asleep by the time she had finished with her extra task. So, not wanting to wake her, she had left the spool outside the girl's room in the attic. A small folded paper beneath it described the basic guidelines for preforming the Smyrna Cross Stitch, an advanced technique she would begin instructing her oldest students on in a few weeks.

For the sake of comfort, and with a desperate need to unwind from the day's labors, Miss Rose opened her bedroom window before sitting at her small vanity, basking in the gentle warmth of a late summer breeze that rolled in off the night like a wave from the sea. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the perfect evening air, reveling for a moment in the bliss of a receding heat that whispered coyly of the coming chill. It warmed her while leaving her skin prickled with goose bumps.

From somewhere in the distant night, music was playing in the city. Emily imagined that on that distant block, perhaps at a quaint corner café, there were couples dancing slowly beneath the stars. Their bodies held close together in a forbidden sway that enticed the imagination to the good night dealings, would surely move blindly though the night, the gay music of romance their only guide.

As she drifted away on the wings of these make believes, Emily carefully removed the collection of pins from her hair. One by one they were pulled away, each releasing a golden curl that would spiral and unwind as they fell down her back, gathering together in a beautiful waterfall of virgin silk. Emily wore her hair at a length that was quite uncommon for the contemporary fashion. It made styling difficult at times, and it could never be worn down in public. But she kept it long for her own sake. For these solitary times when she was rewarded with the reflection of the Babylonian princess, the willful creature of the forest, the medieval maiden waiting for her shepherd to steel a treasured kiss.

Suddenly, her daydream was breached when movement from the outside world called her back. Emily turned and saw that hers was not the only room with a light in its window. Across the alleyway to the brick of the mansion next door, the room across from hers and one story above was aglow. Wrapping her dressing gown around herself she ebbed nearer to the open air to see who was awake. To her happy surprise she saw the passing silhouette of a man, adorned with a daring beard, and whose head was wrapped regally in in the modest crown of his turban.

Without hesitating Emily grabbed a scarf from her dresser and quickly tied her hair back before leaning out onto the sill. She must have caught his eye, for the figure paused in its pacing to open his window and do the same.

Once again she was graced with that dazzling smile that seemed to fill the air around them with his warmth and charm.

"Hello again!" She called. Her voice was light and sounded obliviously free to the turmoils of working life.

"Good evening Miss Rose. Still awake at this hour?" His arms were folded respectfully behind him.

"Yes, despite my better intentions. But I see I'm not the only one."

"Alas it is true. For we are the wheels on the machine of progress, always turning."

"Something about burning the midnight oil for the sake of the Industrial reserve?" Emily asked, her heart swelling with the romantic idealism of the poetry that Ram Dass was also clearly familiar with. Such… revolutionary poets were not often quoted in respectable circles, but the familiar words were a joy to hear, especially from someone who was more and more drawing her special attention.

He laughed, "Something like that."

For a moment Emily hesitated to continue their conversation, wondering if even in these informal surroundings it would be improper. But squeezed between the battlements of their two institutions, high above them the moon was shining, and the music was in the air. So she made herself comfortable and leaned out upon the sill.

"Have you studied the poets of the revolution, Ram Dass?" She asked.

"I wouldn't say studied, Miss Rose, but they've kept me company on my travels."

"You must be very well read."

He smiled again and braced his arms against the rail, leaning down through the night in a similar pose of attentive interest.

"Now why would you say that?"

"Well, with all the places you've been. I imagine it must have provided some wonderful exposure."

"It has."

"Have you been to many places?"

"A fair amount." She could tell he was being modest, charmingly modest.

"Where is the best place you've be?"

"Here comes to mind." It was a quick remark and Ram Dass soon recovered from it, leaving Emily just enough time to blush between his words. "Every place has held its own charm. But I find my mind always returns home."

"To India?" She asked.

"He nodded, "Yes, to India."

"Ram Dass?" She asked, hesitant to what she was about to say.

"Yes, Miss Rose?" He leaned forward.

"Would you mind…well, that is, I'd like to ask…" then she laughed, suddenly feeling silly about herself. "Oh well, would you tell me about India? It seems so wonderful to me, and I'm very interested."

He laughed too, a delightful chuckle that bounced perfectly off her ear.

"Is that all? Well of course I'd be delighted."

"I don't mean to intrude, it's just that I've never left London, and…"

He gave her a wise yet curious look.

"Well, I suppose I've always felt there was something out there, calling for my attention somehow." She was lost in his eyes for far too long. And as the color crept up her cheeks she was forced to turn away, shocked at her own stupid honesty.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"Not at all, Miss Rose. Please don't feel embarrassed. After all, if simple servants like us can't speak truthfully in the forgiveness of the night, then we are not worth the heroic ideals of the poets we claim to live by."

"How very well spoken… You're right. Then I'm not sorry, not sorry at all."

"Good. Neither am I."

They might have held that moment forever, if it were not for the call that rang out from the labyrinth depths of Lord Wickham's estate.

"Ram Dass! Ram Dass! Come here at once, I need you." The lascar looked over his shoulder, and when he returned his gaze it almost looked as if he were sorry to go, at least Emily hoped that it did.

"I must go." He said.

"I understand."

He paused for a moment. "But I'll say this. I promise to tell you all about India, if we meet again at our windows tomorrow."

"It's a deal."

They both rose, he with his hands on the shutters, hers on the sill. Slowly the pane was lowered, and the shutters latched. She stayed awhile at her post, and though he had moved away, off to see to the needs on the front, in his mind he was still there looking down and longing.


End file.
